Page 51 of A Touch of Stars and Stones (Kirrian #1)

twenty-nine

. . .

Aten

T he sorrow I picked up from Ever when we were in Kamari’s office didn’t lessen after we left. Nor did it fade as we walked back to the training residence. It clung to Ever, following her every step like an ominous shadow, and I couldn’t escape its bitter tang.

I stop at one of the street stalls after the Warrior quarters and get us two cups of water and a couple of pastries. They aren’t the ones she loves, but they’ll do. She takes the food I offer, and that small gesture gives me a beat of relief.

But it doesn’t lift her emotions. It’s like sadness has painted her, coating her in the sensation and weighing her down. And I hate it.

And maybe I can admit how much she’s gotten under my skin now.

Seeing her like that—in that much pain—tore something open in my chest, and I’m not sure it wasn’t my heart. Her icy green eyes, soft full lips, her sheer defiance the first day we met, even her hand when she clung to me despite channelling pain—nothing mattered after seeing her.

Blood pooling. Oozing from her chest.

No.

I won’t let that happen. And if I was worried, I might be falling before, I’m clearly screwed now. Because I knew I wanted to fight for her from the moment she stormed past me. And now, I want to defend her with my life. Defend against that vision ever being her future.

She is quiet through training, which, mercifully, has rotated back to skills.

We work with blades, and it once again reminds me of how little Ever knows.

Rowan actually instructs her this time, alongside everyone else.

Calix keeps watch over her, too, which shouldn’t fucking piss me off, but it does.

Usually, we’d steal glances, or I’d catch her watching me. Or I her. But she avoids me at every turn.

Infuriating.

And only serves to burn my emotions hotter.

Rowan pairs Micah with her for sparring. Wise. He can’t do much more damage than her with a blade, but it still bites into me.

Every fibre, every beat of my heart wants to stand guard over her and make sure she doesn’t suddenly transport us to some snow-covered landscape where I’ll have to live through watching her die.

Everything feels off-kilter. Maybe the events over the last few days have caught up to all of us, or it’s the waning effects of the new moon in two days’ time. It’s not just me, and it helps camouflage my piss-poor mood. There’s far too much in my head, and it all revolves around her.

The conversation with my father still tugs and worms its way in, and every time I look at Ever, I feel like I’m betraying her for not telling her my suspicions that he knows who her parents are.

But that’s all they are. Suspicions. Strands of thought and cloaked words that don’t add up to enough.

At her Transference, Kamari said that her being a Fifth was destined, not influenced by her Advocate.

That must mean her parentage. I want to give her something sure—something real. She deserves that.

After baking under Novandia’s ruthless rays for most of the day, with only a short break for lunch, we’re dismissed.

I stride towards Ever, who’s still with Micah, and pull my concentration around my mind to guard against the sorrow that has lingered far too long for my liking.

“Go and find Kyra. Ever will need her later. I’ll come and get you after dinner.

” Micah nods and leaves us, and she finally turns to look at me.

“You really don’t want me to have a bath, do you?

First, this morning, and now, after all those hours in the sun, you still want me to work?

” Her attack pulls at the smile on my lips at laying eyes on her again.

No darkness, only that bright, clear green.

She shoves her hands on her hips, and that move brings my attention right to where her hands are.

She’s stripped off the cotton shirt she often favoured to cover up. It’s now hung from her waist, secured with a knot at the front. And it doesn’t hide the small strip of skin I can still see. Skin that glistens along her chest, her collarbone, and down her arms.

I’m staring. Fucking drinking her in, and I can’t stop even if I try.

After today, I’m done.

No more playing safe. Apparently, watching the girl you might be falling for bleeding out in front of you changes your priorities.

I crowd her, forcing her head to tilt up to keep her eyes watching mine. Very, very carefully, my hand lifts, and the tip of my finger brushes one of her stray wisps of curls away from her face.

Her breath hitches at the barely-there contact, and her pupils flare darkly, beating back the cool green with ease. Relief that she doesn’t pull back hits me in the chest.

“Take a bath if you want, Ever. But please don’t do it on my account.” I lean down to angle my lips near her ear. “Because you look fucking delicious just the way you are.”

I don’t need to use any of my magic to pick up on what she’s thinking now. It’s written all over her body, her body that’s reacting to me. My eyes dip to her lips, then lower, where the outline of her breasts and nipples now press firmly against the top she’s wearing despite the heat.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My body blocks her, shielding her because that isn’t something I want anyone else seeing.

“Ten…” Her voice is all breathy, and now I need a fucking bath. A cold one.

“Put your shirt on,” I snap.

“What?” Confusion creeps over her face.

“Put your shirt back on,” I grind out each word. “Because while I’m more than happy to stare at your chest. I don’t want anyone else to. Understand?”

“What? Oh, Stars!” Shock dawns, and she steps back, twisting her body and scrambling with her shirt.

It’s the first time I’ve smiled all day. And, if just to forget that blanket of sorrow from earlier, I drop my shield around my mind and search for her emotions.

Bright and glaring, embarrassment lights her up. But something else as well, something I don’t recognise from her.

“I’ll see you later on,” I say as I walk past and head for my room.

The cold bath doesn’t help. Because as I eased into it, all I could think about was her.

Her body and her fucking breasts through that damp top make my cock twitch.

I hate myself for imagining her as I stroke myself. With my hand wrapped around my length, I let my eyes slide shut, picturing her touching me as I find my release. All pretence of control evaporates, and while that high is fleeting, the drop on the other side is fucking huge.

I’m selfish because I want her, crave her, despite my own sanity, apparently.

Because to be with her, I’d have to either learn to block what she does to me when we touch, or survive only being able to touch her under a new moon.

And right now, that feels nowhere near enough.

Yet, the possibility of being thrown back into a vision of the future helps keep my desire in check.

We’ve been walking a tightrope since the first moment I laid eyes on her.

And it’s only narrowed and become more precarious.

That pull towards her has only grown stronger through everything, each graze of her skin, each lingering stare.

The drive to look out for her is now a permanent part of me, melded against my chest bone like it’s something that’s always been a part of me.

And I still don’t want her out of my fucking sight.

Today wasn’t the same kind of pain as when we connected in the classroom. This vision was so much worse because it was her pain, not mine. And she was right. She was dying in that vision. I didn’t just see it. I felt it.

We have no idea if that future is just a possibility or not. And that is fucking terrifying.

I arrive purposefully late and make it through dinner. Mercifully, Ever isn’t in the hall. Micah, on the other hand, joins me and starts running his mouth about something.

Capella wants to work with us. She doesn’t want to be in the same position as Ascella. That’s about all the information I pick up as I finish my food, nodding at random intervals.

But all I can do is think about Ever. About practising again with her, and if I’ll see that vision of her dying again. Something inside of me needs to prove that vision—that possibility—isn’t the only thing we’ll see.

“I’ve got to go. Thanks for the update.”

“Wait, Ten.” Micah stands with me. “You’re not the only one that cares about her, you know.”

“I didn’t?—”

“Here.” He dumps three hefty books onto the table that were next to him on the bench. “These are for her. I assume that’s where you’re going next.” His brows rise in question.

“What are they?”

“More books from the library with references to Fifths.” He pauses. “She wants to know. She’s had enough secrets kept from her.” For a second, I study him, guilt unfurling in the pit of my stomach because I’m holding out on her.

Does he know? I focus, as if listening intently, and scan for any spikes of emotion or thought from him, but there’s nothing.

“Thank you.” I grab them and leave.

Going to her now, when my thoughts and emotions are all over the place, is a bad idea. But I can’t talk my body out of heading right to her room.

Shit.

I knock on her door, but there’s no answer. So, I concentrate and attempt to feel for her or sense any kind of emotion. We’ll be doing that later, anyway. And now, it feels easier somehow. Like I’ve committed what she feels like to memory, and sensing her is becoming instinctual.

Cold. Not sorrow or sadness.

Nothing else, but she’s inside. Risking it, I open the door and walk into the chilled room.

She’s sitting on the bed with Kyra, their hands held loosely between them, little flurries of snow picking up and dancing around them.

I watch for a moment, the light from the candles catching in her hair and highlighting the copper and red-bronze strands.

Her breathing is even, and there’s no pain on her face. She looks calm. Peaceful. And I’m hit with envy, wild and angry, as I wish I could have that with her.

Kyra clears her throat, her eyes spearing me.